


Irons Need Not be Iron

by Mystletainn



Series: There is No Such Thing As [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Realm crossing, Swan Queen Week, Travel, dragon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 03:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7829197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystletainn/pseuds/Mystletainn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt #2 for Swan Queen Week: Travel</p><p>When Dark One summons via dagger fail, Emma is caged in the trappings of her most recent and, perhaps, largest failure. </p><p>Amidst her struggle, she finds an unlikely ally.<br/> </p><p>  <b>Excerpts:</b></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“So…Regina used to ride you a lot?” Okay, that’s not awkward at all. She swears it sounded a hell lot better in her head.</i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>A throaty chuckle resonates in her ears. Or head. Brain. Mind. Whatever. She feels the dragon throw its head back beneath her hands. The motion has Emma strengthening her grip on scaled flesh. She chalks it up to annoyance, not fear. </i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p><i>No wonder the dragon sorceress and the Evi—no</i>, former <i>Evil Queen had gotten along so well. Infuriating, sarcastic, bitchy assholes, the both of them. Even in dragon form, Maleficent had no problem pushing her buttons.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Irons Need Not be Iron

**Author's Note:**

> The works in this series are not necessarily in chronological order. 
> 
>  Updates will be sporadic. 
> 
>  
> 
> **I lay no claim to Once Upon A Time and its characters.**

In all three decades of her existence, Emma had never felt truly free.

Part of the wardrobe travel package was a tour of the United States of America. She had set foot into nearly every state there is, seen the sights each had to offer. Throughout her formative years, she had taken certain liberties—alcohol, assault and battery, theft, and a bit of dabbling on inhalants and injections to name a few. Each was one part rebellion and two parts desperation, a brief respite from the shackles of the unwanted. 

The ‘child of the system’ experience finally came to a close, and there it was—freedom. Alas, it was all a lie. 

There is always _something_ pulling her back, a string drawn so taut and stretched so thin that Emma can only acquiesce to the laws of nature. A boy, a pair of fairytale royalty which happens to have birthed her, an ex-pirate who sacrificed his prized vessel for her sake; the fetters came in different shapes and sizes. 

Ah, no, she can't think that. Not cages or chains. Family.

Family that is currently getting on her last nerve.

“Emma, you need to calm down. We _will_ find her. Isn't that what we always do?”

“Oh, the infamous _Charming_ family motto,” she retorts with a sickeningly saccharine smile. “It's been a week, Snow. A _week_ , and not a sign of her. Are you even looking? Do you even care? Do any of you? Because it looks to me like it's just me and the kid against the world.”

“Of course we care!” Snow exclaims, indignant. “But you do need to take a break. You haven't eaten anything since that bagel yesterday. I doubt you've been getting much sleep. You may be a lot of things, Emma, but superhuman is not one of them.”

Killian rests his one good hand on her shoulder. “Your mother's right, love. It won't do to have you collapsing when the Dark One inevitably returns.”

Emma feels something unfurl within her. Something ugly. Something terrible. Something angry. The appendage flies off her shoulder with a deafening smack. All eyes in the diner are on her, flies attracted by a decaying carcass, but she could care less. 

“You shouldn't have stopped me,” she snarls in Killian's face.

Across the table, Henry gapes at her with misty eyes. Guilt is written all over his countenance, a face whose youthfulness is rapidly fading with time and constant anxiety. She instantly regrets her outburst. 

She reaches for his head, ruffling the neatly coiffed hair and flashing the boy a smile. Smokes and mirrors were her trade. But in front of her son, she might as well be colorless glass. 

“I'll be back, kid."

Paying no heed to the onlookers and to her mother's nonsense, she heads down the hallway to the bathroom. The door flies open and slams shut without preamble. She locks it and leans against the wood, sliding to a squat and burying her face in her palms in a silent scream. Oh, how she wants to scream.

“Emma? Emma, what are you doing?”

She lifts her head to the source of the sound. “Hey, Lily.” She catches a second pair of eyes watching her through the mirror and adds, “Maleficent.”

Maleficent smirks as she applies finishing touches to her lipstick. “I couldn't but overhear your little… _explosion_.” She clicks her tongue and turns to face her. “What have the un-Charmings done this time?”

Emma frowns and straightens herself to full height. Cursed dragon hearing. She sighs in defeat. “Nothing. They've literally done _nothing_.”

Identical raised eyebrows from mother and daughter dragon urge her to elaborate.

“It's not a secret. Well, even if it were, the entire town will eventually find out, one way or another.” She is _so_ not pulling a Snow White. “A week ago, when Rumpelstiltskin nearly died, the Apprentice tried to contain the darkness in Pandora's box. Suffice to say it failed.”

“Has the imp died?”

Emma shakes her head. 

“Pity,” Maleficent murmurs good-naturedly. Her smirk vanishes. “Why am I getting a strange sense of foreboding?”

“The darkness was loose and needed a new host. A tether.” Emma exhales loudly. “Guess who the lucky winner was.”

Blue eyes, normally cold or bored or variations of both, widen and flicker with horror. “ _No_.”

Sensing her distress, Lily crosses the threshold and wraps her hand around her mother's. Her gaze darts between the two blondes in consternation. 

“Yes,” Emma affirms, grimly. Her insides lurch, heart dropping to her feet as she unwillingly relives that particular nightmare. It had been beyond painful to be forced to stand back, utterly powerless, to be unable to do nothing but watch the darkness engulf _her_ , consume the light. To see the name engraved on that damned piece of steel, a name that had no right to be there. The very same name that had permanently carved itself into Emma's heart. 

Lily seems to have found comprehension. “Regina. Regina Mills is the new Dark One.”

The reality of the situation hits Emma even harder when it is given voice to. She shuts her eyes and sandwiches her head between her hands, as though not hearing will make it any less real. 

“It should have been me,” she says, voice breaking. “It should have been me.”

Aghast, Lily starts, “Emma, it's not-“

“I'm the Savior, goddamnit!” Her fingers curl around blonde hair, tightening and pulling the strands. “I'm the fucking _Savior_ and I couldn't even _save_ her. Some _hero_ I am. I let our son down, _our son_ ,” she chokes on a sob, "He was so heartbroken, so _betrayed_. He shouldn't ever have to be. But he is, and it's all my fucking fault.”

Maleficent is vibrating from the effort of restraining her rage. Icy blues flashing, jaw clenched so tight that Emma thinks she hears teeth breaking, she all but growls. “That _foolish_ , _pigheaded_ martyr.”

Emma had not witnessed this much emotion in the sorceress since reuniting her with her long lost daughter. She fears the dragon would make an appearance, in the bathroom at Granny's, of all places. The werewolf would have a conniption. 

Before any potential property damage could ensue, Lily envelopes her irate mother in a hug. She holds her close, whispering in her ear until the maelstrom calms.

“Trust me, _Savior_ ,” she spits the title like a connoisseur would cheap swill, “she has no desire to be saved.” She disentangles herself from Lily, smiling and muttering her thanks. 

Her mouth curls in distaste as she returns her attention to Emma. “Your attempted heroics notwithstanding, I cannot condone the fact that you've forgone seeking my assistance. With Rumpelstiltskin and Regina currently indisposed, I am the only one in this accursed town capable of handling a magical crisis.”

“Yeah, I know. That was really stupid of me.”

“Evidently. I'd expected no less of your heritage.”

“Okay, I kinda deserved that,” Emma raises her hands in surrender. “I'm sorry for not asking for your help, okay? I just…I wasn't really thinking and, in my defense, I don't know…I was _pretty sure_ you hated my guts? Yeah. Approaching you didn't seem like a good idea.”

“Whatever quarrel I have with your _idiotic_ parents is ours alone.”

Emma is fairly convinced that Maleficent’s venomous disposition toward her throughout Regina's undercover stint had been _very_ genuine. Even after finding Lily, for whatever reason, Maleficent was not sold on the Savior. But Emma has no interest in opening that can of worms at the moment.

“Noted.”

Maleficent's face is alarmingly vacant, as is her tone. “You've seen neither hair nor hide of her, have you?”

“Not since that night.” Emma swallows the lump she didn't realize was building in her throat. “We tried summoning her with the dagger. It didn't work.”

“Inevitably,” Maleficent dismisses. She shares a meaningful look with Lily and inches toward the exit. 

“Wait, where are you going?” Emma asks, apprehensively. She flattens her back on the door and splays her fingers over the knob, obstructing Maleficent's passage. Her volume rises a notch. “That's it? You're not going to do anything? After losing it over being the last to know? So much for being her _friend_.”

“That is none of your business,” Maleficent drawls, enunciating each syllable as though explaining a foreign concept to a child. She seems dreadfully bored, but the startling intensity in those arctic eyes betray her veneer of nonchalance.

“Emma, what the hell?” Lily snaps, temper quicker than her mother's. She steps into Emma's space and looks her dead in the eye. “Say what you want to say. If you want something, just fucking ask. No need to be a dick.”

Emma snorts. “Because _you_ are the poster girl for politeness. And since when did you get so defensive of _mommy dearest_? Last I checked, you couldn't even stand being around her and-“

Fuck. Emma has to bite her tongue. In every sense of the verb.

She had been responsible, albeit partly, for Lily's misfortune, from conception until her arrival in Storybooke. Lily had led a clusterfuck of a life because Emma could not be trusted to be good. Because Emma was no good. 

“Crap,” she cusses under her breath. “Shit. Lily, I'm so sorry. I have been a total dick. I just…I just don't know what to do anymore. I don't know where Regina is. I don't know if she's okay or if she's even alive,” she internally slaps herself for entertaining such a notion, “I want to help her, but I have no idea how. I want her back, but the stupid dagger isn't working and I… _fuck_. Shit. _Shit_. Shit!” She pounds a fist on the door in frustration. 

Again. And again and again, until she tires, until the spark fizzles out. Her hand should sting, fingers ache, but she feels numb. Miserably hollow. She clasps both palms over her mouth. A piercing wail reverberates across the tiled walls.

Lily is immediately on her knees, gathering Emma into her arms and rubbing circles on her back. It is so tender, so unlike Lily, and so like _her_ that it only makes Emma cry.

Maleficent observes mutely, a shadow hanging in the periphery, present yet somewhat removed from their bubble. She shows no judgment at her breakdown, probably never will. And even if she does, Emma wouldn't mind. 

“The dagger isn't defective,” she says eventually. “The Dark one simply isn't in the same realm as it is.”

※

Her _idiotic_ parents accuse Maleficent yet again of plotting and scheming behind their backs. Seriously, hadn't they done enough to her already?

One would think those two have gotten past their prejudice and self-righteous bullshit. One would have thought wrong.

“Do you realize how _ridiculous_ you’re being? Not to mention rude?” Emma pinches the bridge of her nose. “I'm lucky enough to be given the opportunity to tag along.”

Beside her, Henry gives his grandparents the stink eye, channeling Regina remarkably well with the folded arms and the stern ‘I am embarrassed by our blood relation, thank god for adoption' look. Atta boy!

Snow opens her huge mouth to argue, but David shushes her before she could even get a word out.

“All right. I may have my misgivings, but I won't repeat the mistake of not trusting our daughter,” he says, all proud and fatherly. “I trust you, Emma.”

And here is Emma's answer to the classic ‘Who do you love more?’ question.

Her mother sighs in exasperation but abandons all efforts of bending their daughter to her will. She spreads her arms wide for a group hug. “Be very careful, Emma.”

Emma nods as they part. She beckons Henry closer and pulls him into a long, tight embrace. Being the boy obsessed with quests and secret operations that he is, he had begged to be included in the trip. Puppy dog eyes and jutting lower lip and all. 

Maleficent, however, consented to taking only _one_ passenger.

Furthermore, if her brief foray into the Enchanted Forest has taught Emma anything, it’s that crossing realms is unpleasant business. She’d rather have an envious, petulant teenage son than a deceased or injured one.

Also, Regina would definitely kill her.

“It's fine, Ma. I understand,” Henry breathes against her hair. His height nearly surpasses Emma's. Too fast, too soon. Christ, he had only been ten not so long ago. “Bring her back. Bring Mom home.”

She gives him a parting peck on the cheek and proceeds to where Maleficent waits. 

“No kiss goodbye for our dear captain?” the dragon sorceress greets.

Emma glowers. “He doesn't know.”

“Ooh, secretive. The apple _does_ fall far from the tree.”

“I don't want to talk about Killian,” she groans, eyeing Maleficent speculatively. “So, how do I…um, don't I get a saddle or something?”

She scoffs. “The little queen had always ridden me bareback. And so shall you, Princess.”

Being in Maleficent's presence is an excellent workout for her eyerolling muscles, Emma discovers. She steps back and lets the shapeshifter do her thing. She had only ever seen Maleficent's transformed self once. In the pitch black of that musty cave, and only for a few scant minutes. She had been too preoccupied with self-preservation to marvel at the mythical creature. 

Magnificent. Simply marvelous. Emma is rooted to her spot, drinking in the beast in its pleochroic armored glory. She can't determine from where she is standing, but she suspects Henry is wearing an equally dumbfounded expression.

The dragon stomps impatiently, startling Emma out of her trance. 

“Oh. Do I- Fine, fine, I'm hopping on. Sheesh.”

※ 

Flying on dragonback through Fairy Tale Land airspace is exceedingly liberating.

The scenery is absolutely breathtaking. Airplanes and helicopters offer a decent enough view, but this is vastly superior. No barriers to obstruct her vision, nothing between her and the clouds. Just the open air, the endless stretch of blue flecked with white, the lush greens and browns of the earth below.

Emma still worries, despite Maleficent's reassurances and magic holding her in place. She doubts Dragon Airlines will provide recompense in the event of a crash or other such accidents. Jests aside, anything involving mounting beasts never ends well for her.

‘You won't fall.’ Just like ‘You won't feel a thing' and ‘You'll never be alone again.’ Right. Of course.

**“My, my. Is that childhood trauma I'm hearing?”**

Ah, crap. She said that out loud, didn't she?

“How-?” she blurts dumbly before she could stop herself. “Oh, right. Magic. Didn't know you had telepathy.”

 **“Among other things.”**

“Huh.” This must be what it's like for schezophrenics— hearing voices in their heads. “Cool.”

**“Indeed.”**

It’s quiet, save for the gusts blowing in her face and the rhythmic flapping of leathery wings. It's also awkward. Emma doesn't do ‘awkward' very well. 

“So…Regina used to ride you a lot?” Okay, that’s not awkward at all. She swears it sounded a hell lot better in her head. 

A throaty chuckle resonates in her ears. Or head. Brain. Mind. Whatever. She feels the dragon throw its head back beneath her hands. The motion has Emma strengthening her grip on scaled flesh. She chalks it up to annoyance, not fear. 

**“Curious little thing. What do you wish to know, hm, Savior?”**

Emma flushes brightly and shifts uncomfortably in the space she occupies on Maleficent's back. Stupid traitor mouth. Stupid smartass dragon. How many more hours until Camelot?

“I...you,” she stammers, “y-you know what I mean.”

 **“Hm, I believe I do. Yes, Regina had taken to _riding me_ during her visits to the Forbidden Fortress.”** A beat. **“The queen quite enjoys _flying_ , you see.”**

Fucking implications and double meanings. This is not what Emma had intended with this conversation. She is _not_ picturing _Regina_ , of all people, in the throes of passion. Not that there's anything wrong with that visual. Or with Regina. 

The hell there isn't. Friends don't go imagining what their friends look like naked or having sex. Just… _no_.

She is not being delusional or presumptuous, is she? Surely after everything, _everything_ they've been through, she and Regina can consider each other as friends? She shouldn't have to doubt _that_ at this point. Right?

Yes. Emma and Regina are friends. 

So were Regina and Maleficent. _Are_ , she reminds herself. And maybe even more.

Despite the strange sensation (purposely unnamed and unacknowledged) bubbling in the pits of her stomach, Emma is relieved by the knowledge that Regina had someone by her side. Bile arises within her whenever she is reminded of Regina's tenure as queen, trapped in that gilded cage with only her tormentors for company. 

It is hardly difficult to imagine the young queen running off to Maleficent's lair and conquering the skies on dragonback. Maleficent must have been some sort of lifeline, someone who truly saw Regina, who treated her like an actual living, breathing human being. 

**“My, my. How the green transcends your eyes.”**

Harshly yanked from her introspection, Emma gapes for a good few seconds. “I'm not jealous.”

The dragon cocks its head from side to side. **“Jealousy. Envy. Really, dear, semantics?”**

No wonder the dragon sorceress had gotten along so well with the Evi- _former_ Evil Queen. Infuriating, sarcastic, bitchy assholes, the both of them. Even in dragon form, Maleficent has no problem pushing Emma's buttons.

“Whatever,” she grounds out. “It's not like you and Regina are together.”

Her response elicits another bout of amused sounds from her companion. Emma likes it not one bit. 

As if on cue, before Emma could express her discomfort, the dragon dives vertically down. 

The sky tilts and shifts to a conflagration of brown and green, the winds cutting into her skin like infinite miniscule daggers. And _fuck it_ , Emma grabs on for dear life, no longer caring about damaging reptilian pelage or her own skin. She's plummeting to the earth at god-knows-how-many kilometers per second, shouting and cursing and _praying_ and practically melding herself to the warm, spiny body she sits upon. 

As abruptly as it had started, the drop ends.

Slowly, carefully, almost fearfully, Emma opens her eyes. She is shaking like a leaf, clinging tightly to the dragon's neck, breathing and heartrate still jackhammering her insides. Disorientated and frankly not trusting her limbs not to collapse beneath her, she focuses on wiping her damp cheeks.

 **“I detected dark magic,”** the dragon offers by way of apology. **“ _Her_ magic.”**

Emma only bobs her head, belatedly registering the statement. Her eyes widen in recognition. She quickly dismounts, surveying the surroundings. “Regina?”

In a spiral of charcoal mist, Maleficent reverts to her compact form. She is dressed in a blue-gray brocade gown with dagged sleeves and a low-dipping neckline, a rather jarring sight to Emma considering the sleek, monochrome suits the woman had worn in Storybrooke. The garment gleams shades of purple and blue, depending on the angle of light, a ghost of the iridescence of her gunmetal scales. Her hair is out of its chignon, spilling down her shoulders in elegant rings.

Emma surmises this is her Enchanted Forest getup.

Maleficent nods gravely in response to the pointless inquiry. “It's faint now, like traces of a fragrance, which means she recently used magic and is nearby, unless she's transported herself.”

That is all the motivation Emma needs to snap out of her stupor and compose herself. Regina is somewhere close, in the same realm as she is. 

The dragon sorceress leads, as she is more familiar with the layout of Fairy Tale Land. Emma trails behind, eyes peeled for the telltale purple mist. Or black, should the tethering have altered her signature hue.

“Is it possible to poof to the Enchanted Forest from here?”

Maleficent turns on her heel to raise an eyebrow at her, most likely thrown off by her usage of ‘poof.’ Regina had given a similar reaction to the word.

“Transport to the Dark Palace, you mean? It is possible. However, I doubt she would seek refuge _there_ , among all places.”

Emma says no more, agreeing with the statement and finding solace in it. While inconclusive, it signifies an increased likelihood of crossing paths with the missing Dark One in the forest or in the nearby kingdom. 

They encounter a number of woodland critters along their trek. Hares, squirrels; herbivores, for the most part. They soon find themselves in the middle of a clearing, where a particularly large elk strikes the dragon's fancy. 

“I hadn't a proper meal in ages,” she grouses at Emma's intercession.

“Can't you conjure food or something?”

“Why expend magic when perfectly edible game presents itself on a silver platter?”

Emma shoots her the deadliest death glare she can muster. Ineffective, she gathers from Maleficent's unimpressed expression. Decades of exposure to Regina's optical arsenal probably granted her some sort of immunity.

Emma didn't have much practice conjuring objects out of thin air. Her magical repertoire consisted mainly of offensive spells and some barriers, which were the focal points of her training with Regina.

So she digs into her pockets. “Here.”

The dragon sorceress lifts a brow at the proffered Mars bar before accepting it with a disdainful huff. She devours it in two bites. Chin haughtily lifted, she starts a steady brisk pace.

Emma throws her arms up in exasperation. Ungrateful snob.

And _wow_. Not only does Maleficent walk fast, but she also takes really long strides. In her haste to keep up with the punishing rhythm, Emma trips over an assortment of roots and rocks. She is summarily reminded of why she hates the Enchanted Forest. Or the wilderness, in general.

Maleficent slows to a sudden halt, prompting Emma to follow suit. 

“I smell a human.”

‘Well, shit, Sherlock,’ Emma tries to convey with a pointed stare. Not that Maleficent could grasp the reference, much less appreciate it. Like Hook with Martin McFly.

“In case you haven't noticed, there is a _human_ ,” she exaggeratedly points a finger to herself, “walking behind you, like, _right behind you_.”

Maleficent snorts, leaving Emma to wonder how such an undignified noise can be anything but. “I didn't realize egotism was hereditary.”

So much for smartassery. That nosedive must have soundly massacred Emma's neurons. She is well aware she's taken on a hue that firetrucks would envy. “Where? Is it…is it her?”

In the distance, Emma can hear the clattering of metal, the cadence of hooves, and the frenzied symphony of whinnies and words. She looks to her companion. “Wha-”

The ground beneath her rumbles, knocking her back on her haunches. Maleficent's mist enshrouds everything in sight, coalescing and whirling until the dragon stands in its wake. 

Eyes rolling for the nth time, Emma jumps to her feet and fishes out her standard issue firearm. Despite her burgeoning magical capabilities, it is her trusty .45 that offers her that much needed modicum of safety. She cocks the gun and jumps into the fray.

The area reeks of death and dark magic, which lends credence to Maleficent's emergency landing and magic detection capabilities. About a dozen armored men decorate the forest floor, all clad in blue-and-red surcoats emblazoned with Camelot's coat of arms. There is a notable absence of their mounts. Whoever slaughtered these knights has no qualms taking human lives, but balks at the prospect of animal cruelty.

Besides herself and Maleficent, a solitary figure remains upright amidst the circle of corpses. It is shroud in black, arm raised at eye level, hand glowing red.

 _No_. No way. 

Emma lowers her gun and darts headlong into the cloaked figure. Her arms cinch around a narrow waist, face nuzzling into the junction of neck and shoulder. The scent of _her_ tickles Emma's nostrils, sweet and soothing yet undeniably sensual, addicting. Or is it her magic? 

She feels a surge of power behind her eyes, a warmth thrumming in her veins, filling her whole being. She is hot all over, a little dizzy, and maybe a bit high. And it's wonderful.

“Regina,” she breathes, awed and disbelieving. 

Regina is swallowed in a shapeless black cloak courtesy of Dark One outfitters. Her arms are concealed by billowing, too-long sleeves which make her look smaller than she already is. And even more adorable. Emma can't quite wrap her head around how ridiculously cute she is with the hood.

She stares ahead, unseeing and unspeaking and unmoving, except for fingers enclosing a red, beating mass. 

Clench. Unclench.

The owner of the heart spasms helplessly on the ground. 

“Regina!” Emma grasps those relentless hands. Hands that heal as much as harm. “Regina, don't do this. You're not that person anymore."

Clench. Unclench.

Her pleas fall upon deaf ears.

“Pathetic peasants,” Regina seethes, livid purple eyes bleeding through the shadows on her face. 

Clench. Unclench no more. 

Emma stands paralyzed, watching the man scrabble at dried leaves, a last-ditch resistance to the phantom pain dragging him to his end. She bites her lip to stifle a sob, futile, given the torrent flooding her face. 

A chilling laugh permeates the otherwise tranquil woods. Regina’s head lolls as she rends the flesh to infinitesimal shards, lets them slip from her fingers like grains of sand.

Her hood falls back, exposing the dark locks to flutter in the breeze. Once a rich russet, Regina's eyes now gleam a ghostly amber. Her skin, although lacking the trademark golden scales, is a far cry from her warm olive complexion. Her face is scrubbed clean of makeup, of which Emma approves, but thoroughly reflects her exhaustion.

Regina grins manically, not missing the gargantuan presence looming over them. "You, of all people, should know I'm not afraid of Maleficent, _dearie_."

Translucent purple vines emerge from nowhere, crisscrossing and coiling across the dragon's body. The beast attempts to wrest its wings from the binds, to no avail. Its continued resistance only increases the tightness.

Emma rummages through the folds of her jacket, feeling the beveled metal at her fingertips. Try as she might, she couldn't halt the fresh wave of moisture spilling from her eyes. She couldn't stand the sight of Maleficent having her life squeezed out of her.

"Dark One, I command thee. Stop."

The dragon huffs, visibly relaxing as the purple strands slacken. It disappears in veil of magic. Maleficent eagerly stretches her arms, bending the limbs at all possible angles, rotating her carpals and cracking her knuckles.

Regina takes a shuddering breath, eyelids falling shut. In the blink of a eye, she is brandishing the dagger.

“You **halfwit**!” 

Emma physically recoils at the vehemence.

“What is this, amateur hour?” Regina snarls. “I'd known you to be an idiot, and you have _yet_ to disappoint. The dagger bestows upon its wielder power over the Dark One. _Control_. Over **me**. Do you understand? You should've stopped me sooner.” 

She claws at the fabric covering her chest, features contorting in agony like one of her heart rip victims. "Do you have any idea how easy it is...to don that mantle? Do you know— shut up, Rumple," she rolls her eyes in irritation. "Do you know how it feels, buried wrist-deep between their lungs? It's absolutely intoxicating."

The dagger clatters to Emma's feet with a clang.

"Take it," Regina urges, hoarsely. 

Maleficent watches intently as Emma gingerly retrieves the dagger. "Don't be an idiot, Savior.

“I don’t," Emma hesitates for a moment, "I don't want to be one of them. I won't be another one of your puppetmasters." She pushes the sinuous blade into the Dark One's hand, forcibly curling the woman's digits around its hilt. “I trust you, Regina."

Regina tentatively grips the dagger, spinning it on its tip atop her index finger. Disappointment clouds her visage for a split-second before morphing into nothingness. Her amber eyes are frightfully frigid.

The air shifts ominously, accompanied by a menacing titter from the Dark One. She appears to be tearing up from intense laughter, or genuinely sobbing, or a horrifying combination of both. She tilts her head and pouts, palms meeting in slow, thundering claps.

"Oh, Miss Swan. You really shouldn't invest too much faith in me," she dabs the moisture from her eyes. "The darkness likes the way I taste. And frankly, the feeling is mutual."

Maleficent lowers her head, studying her boots as though they hold the answers to the universe. Her body language rings of resignation.

Emma closes the distance between herself and the Dark One. "You're lying. I know you, Regina. There is more to you than the darkness."

"It was really sweet of you to have come here, Emma," Regina places a slender digit under Emma's chin, forcing hazel to meet amber, "but I'm afraid it is a fruitless pursuit. The darkness is all I have, my dear. 

Emma stares defiantly. "I trust you, Regina. I'll always believe in you."

"But you really shouldn't," she whispers, ghosting her fingers along Emma's jaw, running a thumb across her cheekbones. A sweet yet somber smile blooms upon her lips as she traces each ridge and crevice. 

Dark One or not, the queen's natural beauty never fails to bereave Emma of breath. She leans forward, nothing but a hairsbreadth between their lips. "I trust you to save yourself."

Warm, plump flesh touches the corner of her mouth, fleeting. Emma stretches her arms, finding only empty air.

"Has it ever occurred to you that there is no salvation for me?"

Emma crumples to her knees, overburdened. How is it that words carry the most gravity?


End file.
